Probably doomed

I had to make the sad choice to put on slippers last night instead of my flip-flops. It appears that fall may be upon us.

Which means that I can no longer deny the changing of seasons because it's hard for me to say, "Nuh-huh, Bubba - it's totally still summer," with my teeth chattering. I tried to tuck my feet in between the couch cushions for a while, thinking maybe it was a temporary chill that could be taken care of by a few minutes smooshed in microsuede, but no.

Then I blamed the chill on a mysterious secret open window and its resulting draft.

Then I gave up story hour and just snatched the blanket from the arm of the sofa in a very dramatic display meant to reinforce my post-vacation Winter is Here and I'm OK With It promise by announcing to the room that, "See! I have to use the blanket. That must mean that fall is here and I'm giving up and aren't you all so happy."

My theatrics were only vaguely acknowledged. I don't think Bubba was buying my bullcrap because, at the time, I was wearing a tank top and drinking iced tea.

Granted, it's only, like 50 degrees out, but for me and my supreme wimpiness, it might as well be below zero and I might as well be naked. And I'm not giving up my tank tops until the last minute. Even if I have to wear them under the Ugly Librarian Sweater which I promise to feature in a future post so you can all marvel at its utter hideousness.

I pouted a little bit. And I whined. And then I announced that since it was winter now (even though, really, it's probably only fall or perhaps the tail end of summer, yes.) I was going to put the winter comforter on the bed and stow all the fans in the garage because what do we need these warm weather contraptions for when geez it's practically snowing.

The look of sadness and horror on Bubba's face was, I suspect, the look I've had on my face since the "You're going to have to let go of summer sometime" speeches started.

He's not such a big fan of summer, dontchaknow.

Meanwhile it dawned on me that since it's not as hot out, perhaps I could approach my lovely yarn stash with something other than prickly dread.

I tried this summer, during a moment of sheer sweaty lunacy, to pull out the wool and start on a somethingorother that never turned into more than a few rows of nothingmuch because, ew, it was hot out and what in the world was I doing touching wool. Yack.

It was all wrong. The wool was scritch-scratching at my legs because I was wearing shorts, my sunscreen was making my hands slippery so I was dropping the needles. It was a bad scene.

But now, hey, I'm shielded from the wool by my trusty jeans (and blanket), I'm inside where I don't have to wear four layers of sunscreen and it all makes so much more sense.

Too bad I can't get going on a knitting project to save my life.

I think I've fallen into a nasty trap of indecision meets short attention span meets I only have an hour before I'm going to fall asleep and I want to get something done and this isn't going to do it meets why don't skeins of yarn come pre-wound meets I don't have the right size needle and why are yarn specs so different from one hank to the next so I can never find a pattern that works.

It's messy.

I have started and ripped out more projects than I've completed this year and I'm starting to doubt that Finny can actually Knit anymore. But I have all this great new yarn thanks to nice friends of mine who travel and buy me gifts like possum yarn (weird but pretty!) and designer yarn and other yarn that is soft and nice and made from normal things like angora and alpaca.

And I'm ready to make more leg warmers and fingerless gloves and cowls and hooded cowls and shawls and wraps and anything else I can think of to shield any bare skin from the perceived chilly friggedness of a NorCal winter.

The big problem here, though, is that I have some nice patterns and I have some nice yarn and none of it matches. So, rather than do math (obviously) I am going to try one of those online gauge converters that tells you what to do with a pattern that calls for X stitches/inch on X needles when what you have is a yarn that says it's Y stitches/inch on Y needles.

Why is it always so hard?

Any yarn that doesn't have these details on the tag will be given a stern talking to and burned at the stake.

Wish me luck and if you all have secret ways that you do yarn trickery like this, do let me know. It will save me a lot of time and swearing.